“So…” he said handing it to me and grinning, “you had pictures of me all over your bedroom wall did you?”
“I most certainly did not.” I said skimming the article, as Cal read it over my shoulder.
“And neither did I imply that you were causing a rift in the band.” He said when he’d finished. “That weasel. I should have got an extra two drinks off of him for that.”
“I guess you’re going to have to get used to it now that you’re married to an insincere imposter - think you can hack it?”
“What, the press or being married to you?” I asked him, jokingly.
For the most part Dion laughed off a lot of the press, often making suggestions on how the writing could be improved. It was only when they brought Pallene into it that he became angry. All of Libertia and their friends did, especially Cal who hadn’t mentioned her to any paper. Later, we discovered that Pallene was offered millions for a kiss-and-tell, but she never took the bait, which earned her Dion's eternal thanks. I have often been asked if I was ever envious of my husband’s first wife and my answer was, and still is, an emphatic “no”. My father may have been a tyrant, but, unlike Pallene’s, he wasn’t a monster. My father respected the restrictions our relationship demanded and, to give him his due, incest was punished severely on Crete. Dion and Pallene’s marriage was one of convenience to both; they saved each other and Dion’s feelings towards Pallene were always of a fraternal nature. They had their marriage annulled on the grounds that it was never consummated. I feel a sisterly solidarity towards Pallene, as I do towards anyone who loved Dion. So leave her alone, she deserves to end her days as she was unable to start them, feeling safe and secure without having to hear the sound of someone beating her door down to get to her.
It was hearing about Dion and Pallene’s relationship that helped me put the one I’d had with Theo into perspective. My feelings had never been what they were for Dion. While I loved him, I now know that, Theo inspired sisterly feelings in me, which is ironic considering how our relationship eventually evolved. We didn’t go so far as marrying; we didn’t need to; we had already saved each other by both leaving Crete, alive.
Dion was obsessed with the congratulations and messages from well-wishers, waiting to see if there was a surprise message from his mother’s family. He was the one who spotted the Cretan congratulations. My father was reported as saying he wished us all the best and was sorry that, due to his new son-in-law (whom he understood was a highly successful musician) having a busy touring schedule, we wouldn’t make it to Crete in the near future. This, I knew, was polite code for “never darken my doorstep again”. Fine by me. The newspaper also reported that the King of Crete was making preparations for a small diplomatic tour of his own. My father had never left Crete the whole time I had lived there (more’s the pity), and I put this sudden desire to see the world down to Daedalus’s disappearance and hoped the crafty craftsman had found himself a good hidey hole.
When news of our marriage reached Thebes, my new in-laws were asked if they wanted to comment. Kadmus read from a carefully-worded statement, written by Pentheus. It declared the city of Thebes was renowned for celebrating love and that the King and his family wished Princess Ariadne and her husband a successful and fruitful marriage. Notice the lack of familial reference. Just diplomatic congratulations from one Royal Family to another.
Chapter Seven A Mountain of Mas
After having the conversation with Tireseus about Pentheus’s private eye, I thought back to the day I first met Dion’s ‘mothers’ at the commune and how ridiculous Pentheus’s stories were, compared to the truth. After climbing the steep mountain, lugging our belongings on our backs, the first greeting we were given was the smell of newly-baked apple pie, followed by:
“Wipe your feet. I don’t want you dragging mountain soil over my nice clean floor.” To this day, I couldn’t tell you which of the seven homely ladies greeted us first. They all looked exactly the same. Even though Dion told me all their names, I’d forgotten them within five minutes; besides, they all responded to “Ma”. They fell upon Dion, checking his teeth, combing his hair, prodding his stomach and lamenting that he hadn’t been looking after himself properly. After the initial delight had worn off, they turned on me. Dion introduced me as his ‘wife’.
“We don’t need to know who you are or where you come from,” said one.
“Just answer one question,” said another.
“Do you love him as much as all of us put together?” said a third.
“More,” I replied.
“Bah, impossible,” said a fourth.
“But a good answer,” said a fifth, while the sixth and seventh beamed. Later, there would be more questions. They were intrigued to know how a princess, who had been isolated in a palace, knew so much about herbs and plants. The Mas’ respect for nature paralleled Bris’s and I continued to learn from them, particularly Mas Four and Six who taught a couple of modules on a correspondence Horticultural degree.
“Have you ever thought about expanding your knowledge?” Ma Six asked me, after a discussion on which plants grow best in which soil. “You clearly have a gift and a thirst for more knowledge.” I was taken aback, I had always believed Andro to be gifted in sports and Aster in crafts, but had never thought I possessed a skill, myself. Herbs had been Bris’s talent and gift. I admitted as much to Ma Six.
“But what did you think you’d do when you and Aster left Crete?” All the Mas had wormed my life story from me, while I ate my first piece of their delicious apple pie.
“I didn’t think that far ahead.” I confessed.
“Well, now you can.” Ma Six said. “You need something for yourself, Ariadne. You’ll end up bored stiff if all you do is listen to Dion making music all day. Believe me – even a god-given talent can become wearing after you’ve heard it for the fiftieth time! The correspondence degree would be perfect for you. You could even do it while you’re on the road with Dion and you can take up to six years to complete it.” I listened to her wax lyrical about the course. Her enthusiasm was infectious and my heart panged for Bris. I agreed to look through any brochures she sent me.
“You might as well fill out an application now, while you’re here and it’s quiet.” Ma Six insisted and pointed out. “You can always turn it down, or postpone it, if you get an offer.” She said, giving me a sideways glance. So that afternoon, whilst Dion took himself off with his guitar and wrote “Flowers” for Tria, I sat down at the Mas’ table to complete an application form. Ma Six also suggested I wrote an assignment about the properties of the herbs I knew, to strengthen the submission. When I had finished, she called Ma Four in and they scrutinised it.
“Yes, you’ll definitely benefit from the course.” Ma Four said. I wasn’t sure how to take it until Ma Six told me it was a compliment.
“Ma Four is a harsh marker.” She whispered.
“I heard that.” Ma Four said.
“Which modules do you teach Ma Four?” I asked, winking at Ma Six.
“The most interesting ones,” Ma Four told me.
“She also teaches on the Agricultural course. You can take some modules from that too.”
“I think I’ll stick to the Horticultural one for now and see how I go.” I said, staring at the paper Ma Four handed back to me, which looked like it’d had a run in with a red pen and come off the worst.
“Has Dion heard anything from his mother’s family since you married?” ‘Ma Four asked me, the following morning, as we gathered catmint, burdock and mistletoe. I told her about the statement Kadmus had made and also tentatively suggested that I couldn’t understand why it mattered so much to Dion, when he had more of a family on that mountain than I’d had on Crete.
“Ah, but you had a family for good or ill; you were accepted, no question.” I thought about Aster. Maybe my beautiful husband and deformed brother weren’t all that different; but then Aster was accepted, he had Andro, Phaedra and me.
Pentheus h
ad been wrong to suggest that Dion didn’t have any male influences. The Mas had all been folk singers in their younger years and during Dion’s childhood were visited by fellow singers, including Silenus. Although, to be fair to Pentheus, Silenus’s influence over Dion wasn’t something I always felt comfortable with and I know all of the Mas felt the same way, come the end. When I met him, Silenus was balding, with a round red face and a large paunch, but Mas Two, Four and Six assured me that he had been a very handsome young man. The twinkle in their eyes, when they told me, was confirmation enough.
Growing up, Dion had idolised Silenus, who told him about the exotic places he had visited on tour. During the month Silenus visited, the mountain was filled with music and singing. It was Silenus who discovered Dion’s musical talents.
“From that day forward, you couldn’t stop Dion from playing. He was obsessive.” Ma One told me.
Ma Seven agreed, “He’d miss meals in order to play. And when he did it was trance-like, as if, as …” She hesitated.
“Go on.” I encouraged her, “as if what?”
“As if he was communicating.”
“With whom?” I asked her.
“With his parents.” She told me, simply. Then, when I didn’t greet her reply with ridicule she added in a whisper, “I believe his talent was his father’s gift to him, as well as his curse.”
When Dion was about ten, he was looking for Silenus from the mountain-top when he spied the large figure of his mentor escorted by an unfamiliar smaller blob. As they grew closer, Dion realised that the small blob was a boy. Silenus had often promised to bring his nephew, Amphelos, with him on a visit. Although Dion had been excited by the prospect of a playmate his own age, now that he was here, the novelty of anticipation had worn off. He eyed the other boy suspiciously. Meanwhile, Amphelos’s excitement, at spending a whole month with his favourite uncle, had come to a gradual end, with every step up the mountain. He, in turn, eyed Dion, (whom his uncle had praised to the hilt), with equal enmity. Silenus watched them, amused, and then suggested the boys get out their guitars. By the end of the afternoon, Dion and Amphelos had mutual respect for each other as musicians. By the next day, they were best friends. By the end of the week, they had written thirty songs and had calluses on their fingers, from endless jamming sessions.
During each annual visit, the boys were inseparable. For the next six years, Silenus brought Amphelos with him whenever he visited the mountain, in the summer. They would start the holiday performing the songs they had practised throughout the year; spend it teaching each other new techniques they’d learnt and writing new material. Their farewells included the promise that they would practise what they had worked on, for the following year.
The Mas told me they noticed a difference in Dion during those years.
Music became his life.
“If he’d been obsessive before, after meeting Amphelos he was compulsive, fanatical even.” Ma Two said, wearily.
“His focus was the month of Amphelos’s annual visit to the mountain and no second of it could be wasted,” Ma Seven, who had been the lead singer of the group, explained. “It was probably the happiest time of Dion’s life, until now,” she said, patting my hand.
One summer, Silenus arrived with Amphelos and news of a new music festival that was looking for up-and-coming talent. The boys were eager to go. It was at Delphi. The music festival was set up to provide entertainment for the spectators and participants of the Pythian Games. The boys’ songs and music went down well and they both relished being able to play in front of a crowd, albeit a small one, for the first time. Dion was in his element. He was able to hang out with other musicians and hear their styles. He had found his calling and he and Amphelos hatched plans for their next gig. Dion was also enchanted with the games (a common trend among the men in my life). Growing up on a mountain had made him tough and he was a strong young man, athletic. He learnt that the winner of the wrestling would receive a kistara and Dion needed a new guitar. Needless to say, he won.
Amphelos, then, decided he wanted a new guitar too and decided to enter the boxing. Dion gently warned him that it was a dangerous sport, but Amphelos wouldn’t listen. In any close friendship there is often a certain amount of hostility. Amphelos entered the competition and won, but, his opponent, Diagoras, damaged Amphelos’s hand. He would never play the guitar again. The following year Silenus arrived as usual, but without Amphelos.
“Six months later we had to tell Dion that his best friend and surrogate brother had killed himself,” Ma Three told me. “Can you imagine?”
I could, I had once had to tell somebody that their best friend and brother had died. I remembered that little figure, crumpled on the bed.
Needless to say, Dion took it badly and, like Aster, in silence. He left the mountain for days.
“We didn’t see or hear from him. It was Silenus who brought him back. We don’t know how and he never told us. He just turned up one day, looking for Dion. When he brought him back five days later, Dion was carrying a vine leaf. We asked him where he’d been. “Making music,” was all he would say,” Ma One told me.
“We’d often hear Dion crying at night, then Silenus would rush into his room with that burgundy liquid. We asked him what it was; he just said that it was Dion’s medicine,” Ma Four put in.
“When we questioned Dion, he said that it was Amphelos’s blood. It was making him strong enough to do the work of two. We knew he wasn’t serious about Amphelos’s blood, but maybe we should have been more cautious, asked more questions, but our boy was back, making music, the best music he had ever made,” Ma Two added.
Six weeks after he’d returned to the mountain with Silenus, Dion left with him. He told his surrogate mothers he had a mission. A mission to cure the world’s sadness, as he had been cured, to heal them through his music and the vine.
He’d returned only once before he took me to visit them. Mas Seven and Two hadn’t wanted to tell me about it, but the other Mas insisted I had a right to know.
“Give him his due, Dion wrote to us regularly, so we knew he was getting on well in Olympia, making friends and music.” Ma Five began.
“We don’t hear much from the outside world up here, we’re not ones for taking a paper.” Ma Three joined in.
“But some of us were concerned. Too much success, too young, too soon ... we’d seen that with really good bands in our day.” Ma Five admitted.
“And we were concerned with how much attention Dion was drawing to himself,” Ma Three agreed, “look where he was brought up.” Her gesture encompassed most of the remote landscape.
“We worried it might go to his head ...” Ma Four said, quietly.
“Then he turned up, out of the blue.” Ma Five carried on. “He took to his bed and, at first, we thought maybe he was exhausted and simply needed rest.”
“But when he rose he was agitated, morose, dejected. He took himself off for long walks on the mountain with his guitar.” Ma Seven said, trembling. “Then Silenus arrived and told us what had happened. Dion had been performing with different bands and had even been mentioned on some of their reviews. Enthused by the early accolades, Dion decided to make himself acquainted with his Theban relatives. I suppose he thought they might finally accept him, that Thebes would love him like Olympia did.”
“It did not go well.” Ma Five said, patting Ma Seven.
I nodded in silence. I remembered an interview Andro did for a magazine before he left for Athens. Dion had also made it to the front cover, of the same magazine, along with Theo, who had received a different response from his family, in Athens.
“What did Silenus do?”
“Same thing he’d done before, gave him his medicine.” Ma Five replied.
“But couldn’t you have done something with your herbs?” I asked them.
“Dion is the son of a god.” Ma Four stated.
“But he drinks my infusions.” I told them.
“Only the ones that taste nice, I
expect.” Ma Four said ruefully, rendering me silent. It was true. “Amphelos’s death made Dion realise that HE is an immortal, that’s Dion’s malady. It weighs on him, the expectations that go with it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He won’t admit it, but we suspect Dion knows he doesn’t have long on this earth. His own will want him back. He’s been sent to us for a purpose.”
“To bring happiness and give people’s emotions a release.” I stated. The Mas nodded.
We left them, our backpacks filled with food. I imagined them lined up, as they were then, consoling each other as they watched the figures of Dion and Silenus getting smaller and smaller with every step down the mountain, just as I knew they watched our descent. I was sad to leave them. I had felt safe with them and, more importantly, knew Dion felt safe with them. Dion, however, still didn’t feel that his mission was complete. Now, with me at his side, he said he had found the muse he had been looking for, to fulfil his destiny and help the world find the happiness he had found with me.
Chapter Eight The Birth of Libertia
When Dion left the Ma’s Mountain with Silenus, after Amphelos’s death, they went to Olympia. Silenus set Dion up with a job cleaning at a local hotel where he was given food and board. “Doesn’t matter who your Dad is, you’ve got to keep yourself like everyone else.” Silenus told Dion. Olympia was as well known then, for its vibrant and diverse music scene, as it is now and Dion was in his element. Olympia was filled with young musicians and had an extremely positive, communal, creative vibe. Amongst the up-and-coming was Orpheus, a local to Olympia, who had been fed on music. Orpheus was an exceptional singer. Dion was in awe of him and recognized that Orpheus’s vocal talents far surpassed his own. Rather than music, Orpheus’s first love was the country singer, Eurydike, who had ended her own short, but illustrious career not long after they met. Their relationship came before anything else. Dion appreciated this as he had the utmost respect for Orpheus and adored Eurydike, but then everyone did, it was impossible not to. While Dion and I were dubbed ‘grunge rock’, Orpheus and Eurydike were ‘folk’ and the folk loved them.
Dion: His Life and Mine Page 8